Practical Magic
by zephtastic
Summary: KIRK/MCCOY AU -- A childhood wish never really meant much to Jim until he met the local doctor. Too bad "true loves" and reality don't really mix.
1. thaumaturge

Okay, I have the next updates for this waiting to be beta'd, people.

Also, I fixed some things in this chapter I totally spaced about fixing.

So, enjoy.

* * *

"Jim!" the bellow echoed across the house and jolted its intended awake, sending him flying off the bed. He landed with the dull smack of skin meeting wood flooring, followed shortly by a long, low groan. "JAMES!" This bellow sent him skidding across the floor and into the dresser, bringing the cluttered top down upon him.

"I'm UP!" he yelled back, pushing the mess of candles and keep-sake boxes off his prone form. He groaned again and dropped his head against the floor with a hard thump, hissing in pain. "And she actually wonders why I don't ever want to "hang" with her." He sat up and more knick knacks fell off of his chest, clattering to the floor.

Unsteadily he stood and looked around the room. It wasn't his, even though he'd been staying there for nearly a month now and it still didn't feel anything like familiar. Georgia was entirely different from anything he was used to. His aunts weren't like anything he was used to either, and he seriously doubted the sincerity of their relations. He was now considering them to be more of the "family" you say is related only because they won't leave you alone, but actually aren't related to at all. The thing that 'connected' them was the fact that, like his mother, they were witches, and he happened to be 'blessed' with magick, too; although he would rather put that all to chance than actually believe he was related to these psychos.

"I can hear you," Diana said from the doorway, giving him a dubious once over. She had steely grey hair and was the more severe of the two Wright sisters. She often expressed her distaste for him, and he replied in kind; the feeling was most definitely mutual. "Frankie was calling. She needs your help lifting the piano."

"What?" Jim balked, turning to send Diana an 'as if' expression. He brushed past her into the hallway, not bothering to dress. He had slept in his clothes the night before. "She cleaning behind that thing i_again_/i? We did that two weeks ago! Could've sworn I won the 'There's No Such Thing as Dust Faeries' argument." He pounded down the stairs, two at a time, and burst into the kitchen, intent on feeding himself before moving any pianos.

"You are a selfish curd of a human being," Diana casually remarked as she followed him. She got to the cereal first, their eyes meeting in a tense staring contest before she conceded, handing him the box of Cocoa Puffs. Or rather, held it out and dropped it before he had fully reached across to grab it, making him fumble to catch it before it plummeted earthward. "Your mother should be ashamed, twenty years old and eating Cocoa Puffs?"

"It's too fucking early for this, Dee," he scowled as he poured the cereal into a bowl. "It's a Saturday. You know, _normal_ people sleep in on these days and—you know—relax." He turned on his heel and marched over to the refrigerator, yanking it violently open.

"Thank the Mother we aren't normal," Diana said with distaste. She sighed, as if greatly burdened, and turned to leave. "Oh, by the way? We're out of milk." With that, she left the kitchen, and Jim wished it was her leaving his life instead as he slammed the fridge shut. Damn that woman. He stepped back from the fridge. There were two things he could do right now: A) go help Aunt Frankie move the piano again or B) escape into the woods and hope to be eaten by a rabid animal and never have to return to this place ever again.

Jim would take his odds with plan B. As quietly as he could, he grabbed provisions (a granola bar and canteen of water), then left out the back door. As soon as he was out of the gardens he broke out into a run. He heard Frankie bellow his name, the sound loud enough to make the tall grass around him flutter. He laughed aloud, grinning wide. He was free! At least for today, until he had to return to the house that night to sleep. But that was hours away, and not worth worrying about this soon.

The bright Georgia sun chased his heels until he reached the cool shade of the pine forest that surrounded his aunt's house. Georgia was different in other ways than just having his freaky aunts living in it. Iowa had never been like this, never been so full of life and green. It was way different here. Here there were pockets. Pockets that held thousands of secrets from a bubbling brook to the small burrow of a fox. Iowa had been open endless fields of yellow-brown. In Iowa, there was too much space. Too much space for Jim's thoughts to wander without boundaries, never encountering resistance and going on end forever. There his thoughts found dark new places because there was nothing to hold them back.

Here, though, in Georgia, it was different. Jim liked this different. His father would have called it a "diversion tactic" and, yeah, he wasn't afraid to admit that it was. Didn't mean he couldn't like it. He was sick of the dark places. Right now, he wasn't sure where he was going. His feet carried him past the breach of trees and deep into the cool of the forest. It was still hot, but less so, and yet the humidity still found its way. It seeped in under his shirt until sweat was pooling in every crevice of his body, and Jim relished the feeling of the cool wind blowing across his over sensitized skin. Today he was going to let fate guide him; see where he got carried when he stopped trying to control it.

Fate almost got him hit by a car. He jumped over a low cluster of bushes and straight into a dirt road. Red dust billowed up from under his feet and he looked up suddenly, straight into the shocked face of the man behind the wheel of the old Ford bearing down on him. The truck's horn screamed through the quiet forest, and the tires crunched against the dirt, kicking it upwards as they spun around and away from Jim. Through all this all Jim could do was stare, dumbfounded, like a fucking deer in head lights. The truck skidded to a halt barely a foot away, the passenger door nearly smacking into his side.

All at once, Jim's senses came back full force. The massive dog in the back of the truck was barking its head off at Jim and there was the echoing slam of a car door. Jim stepped back, wary of the dog, and looked over the hood of the truck at the man who was coming around it. The very, very angry man coming around the truck who was definitely big enough to righteously kick Jim's ass.

"Look, man, I am so fucking sorry," he said hastily, looking up and straight into intense green eyes. Something struck a chord in him, like a sledgehammer, and he stumbled even though he wasn't even walking. The man's arms shot out to steady him and suddenly there were hands on his face and those green eyes were looking into his own searchingly.

"You're not high or drunk," was the gruff assessment as the hands roughly let go of him. Jim wasn't sure how he didn't continue stumbling, his soul resonating deep inside him. "So what the fuck are you doing jumping in front of moving vehicles like you are?" The look he was getting was all suspicious and mistrusting.

"No," he said, holding up a hand, even though this was the wrong response entirely. He couldn't get over the feeling he was getting. "What's your name?" He leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the man's eyes. Regrettably, the man leant away, so Jim settled for looking at the rest of the man. And what a rest it was.

"I'm Doctor McCoy," McCoy answered. He was beginning to look like reconsidering the earlier assessment that Jim wasn't pumped with some sort of drug. "The town physician." His tone seemed to suggest that Jim was supposed to already know all this. "Who the hell are you?"

Jim held out his hand. "Kirk, Jim Kirk," he announced, delighted when McCoy took his hand. Their touch sent a jolt through him which McCoy undoubtedly felt as well, if the wide-eyed gaping look was anything to go by. "The Wright sisters are my aunts. I just came down to stay here about a month ago."

Recognition settled into McCoy's face but he didn't look up from his hand, which he had begun to critically look over. "You're the one that beat the shit outta Douglas and his gang," he mumbled. "Shoulda known you'd be with them crazed sisters." Finally those green eyes darted back up and met with his. Jim's soul did a funny little jig inside him again.

"Yeah, that was me," Jim admitted with a careless shrug. He looked back at McCoy's truck and then back to the man himself. "Were you headed somepla---"

"Oh shit!" McCoy cursed, darting back around the truck. "I gotta go, kid." He hopped back into the old Ford and leaned across the seats to look out the passenger window at Jim. "I'll see ya around town and we'll get to talkin' about those aunts of yers, okay?" Without confirmation or warning, the doctor peeled off down the dirt path, leaving Jim behind in a storm of red dirt.

He coughed and waved a hand through the air. '_Oh, great_,' he thought, as he looked down at himself; he was now covered in red dust. "Well," he sighed aloud, looking up at the canopy of leaves above. "At least it gives me a reason to shower today."

*

Jim didn't return to the house until around sunset. He had taken a shower in the old cabin just on the edge of the Wright property. It wasn't good for much else, and Jim often made good use of it. It wasn't fit for sleeping, unfortunately, as it had a rather unruly ghost who would flip the mattress on you at night. Jim had found that out the hard way.

"Something happened to you," was breathed in his ear as he was yanked through the door. He gasped and jumped away. Before him stood the smug visage of his "cousin" Nyota. Funny thing about Nyota was that she was the adopted daughter of Diana, had the same no-nonsense attitude but, was made even worse by the fact she was half her mother's age and gorgeous. Jim thought Nyota was a million times better in comparison to Diana, even though Nyota pretended she hated him. "I can sense it."

He gave her a suspicious look before turning around to send one around the dark house. "Where are the sinister sisters?" he asked. "I won't say anything if they're around." Nyota looked exasperated and rolled her eyes.

"They're out to dinner or something, I'm not sure," she said suddenly turning to head into the kitchen. "But you better tell me what happened or I'll turn you impotent."

"You would never," Jim said as if completely aghast and jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter. Nyota gave him a look that said 'try me' before sitting on the island opposite him. "Alright, alright, she-devil junior. I…" he licked his lips, trying to search for the right words, "almost got run over by this doctor."

"Doctor McCoy," Nyota said, impatiently nodding her head. "I know i_that_/i, but what happened when you did?"

He frowned, annoyed with her know-it-all act. "I don't know," he snapped, leaning back against the cabinets. "We…connected or something. It was weird."

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward, hands braced on either side of her hips. "Yeah?" she asked, a little breathless. "What did it feel like?"

Jim bit his lip as he considered his answer. He was compelled to lie to her, to give her an unsatisfying answer just to teach her for meddling, but she'd never buy it. However, he was still a little raw from the entire ordeal and talking about it honestly with Nyota was like putting sand in the wound. "It was," he began slowly. "Like he hit my soul with his truck. I think…" he sighed quietly, figuring he might as well go all the way with his honesty, "I think he felt it, too."

Nyota squirmed in delight, hopping off the counter and crossing the distance between them quickly. "Is he like what you wished for?" she asked hopefully as she took his hands in hers.

He sat up straighter. "What do you mean?" She was going into unwanted territory now and Jim tried to back track. Nyota looked annoyed as she squeezed his hands tight.

"You know damn well what I mean, James," she said conspiratorially. "I did it with my mum, too. I know it's a tradition in our family and your mum had to have done it with you. Is he what you wished for?"

Honestly, Jim wasn't sure. That had been so long ago and the time with his mother then had been so brief. He remembered writing it down on a photo, what he'd wished for, but didn't know what had happened to that list. "I don't remember it, entirely," he admitted carefully, not meeting her eyes. "But he did have green eyes like I asked. Except, I don't remember asking for a man." Jim scowled. Yeah, that had definitely not been in the criteria, that he could be sure of. "Maybe he's just destined to be my best friend or something," he surmised. "I mean, how do we even really know?"

Nyota shook Jim's hands, gripping them tight in her own. "i_We just know/i_," she insisted. Jim still wasn't so sure. She gave up on further trying to convince him though, and whirled away with a wave of black hair. Jim scowled and pretended that her disappointment didn't burn inside him.

*

Sunday saw Jim rising late in the day and heading straight for the town. Whether or not the aunts had arrived home last night he knew not. When he'd gotten up, the house had been shockingly empty. Not even Nyota or the cats were around. So Jim had just grabbed and an apple and left. He had other things on his mind than the whims of the Wright women.

"Town," as everyone called it, barely lived up to its title. It technically wasn't a town at all; just the strip of necessary shops along a paved road with one traffic light. On this street was the school, the drugstore, the grocer, the hardware store, and the diner. All necessities of country-living. Jim bitched about the microscopic proportions of the place, but secretly loved it. Sundays were the best days to be in town because it was deserted. All the residents were elsewhere, sitting in neat rows on wooden pews and singing hymns. All that meant to Jim was that they were anywhere but where they could bother him, and that was just the way he liked it.

Since arriving here, Jim had acquired, through the means of odd jobs, a small dirt bike. It was what took him between the town and his house or anywhere out of the reasonable limits of walking. The old Honda was reliable, if a bit on the wear and tear side, and he loved it. Apparently it had been blessed once to boot, so it came as something of a shock when he nearly crashed into a parked truck after entering town. For some reason, the brakes didn't work the first, second or third time he'd pulled on them. When they finally did work, he was already using his legs to drag himself to a stop. If they hadn't, he'd have become an unsightly dent in the side of the blue Ford.

The side of the very familiar blue Ford. Jim groaned and got off his bike. He couldn't believe his luck, just when he was starting to think---

"Jim Kirk," was the gruff assessment from the diner's steps. Jim turned and looked up into the scowl of one Dr. McCoy with a sigh.

"Yeah," he huffed, shuffling his bike backwards and kicking down the stand. "Not been my best two days." That earned him a snort, at least, and it was good to know the country doctor was capable of an emotion besides annoyed and more annoyed. "I guess we're meeting in town a little earlier than either of us expected."

McCoy shrugged and took a sip from his mug. "Eh," he answered and Jim interpreted that as 'let bygones be bygones.' "That's fate for ya." The man considered Jim for a second before waving him to follow. "I'll buy you some hash and grits if you keep your mouth shut long enough for me to talk to you."

Jim figured that was a fair enough trade and hurried up the steps, following the doctor. The diner wasn't anything more than what it implied. It had no name beyond 'the diner' (with no capitalization needed here, sir, don't chya worry one bit about it) and its interior reflected many years in this dubious business. Each booth told its own story, and Jim was pretty sure the one McCoy chose had bullet holes in the cushions. Whatever McCoy had to say didn't seem immediately important so Jim turned away from the holes to pour himself some coffee.

"So, kid—"

"Jim," he automatically corrected.

McCoy had the nerve to look annoyed before acquiescing. "i_Jim_/i," he restated, "What brings you here to stay with your aunts?"

A multitude of rude, immature, and downright nasty responses crowded in line, each eager for Jim to pick one. But he didn't. He pursed his lips and considered the dark depths of his coffee. In actuality, he wasn't making the decision not to use the inappropriate responses. No, something was literally holding him back and sealing his lips from doing anything resembling i_lying_/i to McCoy. It was both infuriating and intriguing all at once. So, naturally, Jim hated it.

"I," he began; then stopped, and began again. "I don't have anywhere else to go." Was the best he could manage without turning himself into the sob story he never wanted to be. "The Wrights are my mother's sisters, so here I am." He made a weak expansive gesture with his hand.

McCoy was doing that 'consider yourself considered' look again, which made his eyebrow dart upward and turn at an angle that did funny things to Jim's gut. He shifted nervously in his seat under the scrutiny. The doctor looked ready to say something, but then the diner's only waitress decided this was her prime opportunity to come ask their orders. Jim loved—he glanced hastily at her nametag—Janice immediately. Whatever McCoy had been prepared to say was lost with their orders as the blonde woman shimmied off. Awkward silence descended over their booth like a rain cloud.

Jim fidgeted as he always did when he was nervous. McCoy just stared sullenly into his coffee. It took Jim a moment before he realized the other man was brooding about something. "What's the matter with you?" he asked bluntly, without thinking.

"Excuse me?" McCoy responded, looking a little put upon. "I'm not sure I know you that well."

"I'm from Iowa, my middle name is Tiberius," Jim said, ticking the things off on his fingers. "My favorite colour is gold, I hate the smell of lilac and I'm actually here because I'm too chicken-shit to actually run away for real." Jim clamped his mouth down immediately after the last one, not having intended on going that far. He hoped it wasn't obvious, but he sure felt more than just obvious around McCoy─he felt goddamned exposed. "That good enough for us no longer being strangers?" he asked, trying to recover.

McCoy, on the other hand, looked completely shocked by all this. If he noticed Jim's regret he didn't show it. Instead he just fidgeted a little nervously himself, cleared his throat and then sat up straighter. "It's my daughter," he explained seriously. "And my divorce, and my ex-wife." He shut his mouth and glared out the window. Jim thought that was all he was going to say, something completely inadequate to make up for his slip up, but McCoy continued. "The ex is using my daughter against me," he snorted, but the sound was anything but amused. "And there's nothing I can do about it." Hazel-green looked up into Jim's sky-blue and the energy between them shifted. It crackled between them and suddenly the sugar and cream cups were spilling over and their coffee began to boil. Their gazes broke and the pandemonium settled, both looking down at the mess with surprised expressions.

"I should go," McCoy said hurriedly, and climbed out of the booth as if burned. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and threw money down onto the table. "Here, this should cover it—No, I insist, really, okay? Now, I gotta go. I'll see you around, Jim." With that and not a glance back, McCoy was out the door. Jim turned and watched through the window as he got into the Ford truck and all but peeled out.


	2. of impossible feats

The new week brought with it both absolute boredom and seemingly endless rain. It poured incessantly for the entirety of Monday, stopped only briefly early Tuesday morning, and then picked right back up where it had left off at noon that day. Jim hated it passionately. The rain meant he was stuck in the house with his aunts and cousin with no chance for escape. On Monday he was finally forced to move the accursed piano, which had little to no dust behind it, if anyone was wondering, and then, even worse, he was forced to help completely empty the attic.

Emptying the attic was actually turning out to be almost more entertaining than taking naps all day. It came as a shock, but there was a lot of history in the cramped, dusty room. Jim was invigorated by every little trinket and every pressed photo album. Occasionally, however, his father's smiling face would stare up at him and Jim's heart would stutter to a stop; he'd have to go downstairs and do something else for a while to give it a chance to restart. Still, he enjoyed pulling all the boxes out especially when late into Tuesday afternoon, after he'd been at it all day, he found a box with his name on it. Eagerly he hefted it up into his arms and jogged downstairs with it.

Frankie looked up from her trashy romance novel and caught sight of him. The petite woman's beam all but mirrored his and she excitedly flagged him down. "Come, James, come!" she crowed, clearing the coffee table off with one wide sweep of her arm. The magazines and candles all went crashing to the floor unheeded. Jim set the box on the table and dropped to his knees in front of it. "I'm so glad you found it!"

"What is it?" he asked eagerly and set about ripping open the box.

"Careful, careful!" Frankie hissed and smacked at his hands. Her own smaller ones began to carefully peel off the duct tape, setting each eviscerated strip aside. "The box is just as important as its contents, dear. You treat it with respect as well." She dragged her hand soothingly down the cardboard to illustrate her point. "This box has all the stuff you and your mother left after you stayed here for a year, way back when."

"Yes, Frankie," Jim huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. It was just a box to him, magick or not magick. "Can we just open it already?"

"Sure we can," Diana said suddenly standing between them and yanking the flaps of the box open.

Jim rose a little on his knees, peering eagerly down into the box. Inside was a plethora of odds and ends from a childhood. Small little toys—Jim recognized that GI Joe toy almost immediately—and photograph upon photograph. He smiled slightly and then looked back up at his two aunts who were actually looking at him fondly. He coughed in embarrassment, "Thanks, guys," he mumbled with a shrug. Diana snorted sardonically and Frankie just nodded encouragingly.

He turned his attention away from them. The box was much more important. He sifted through it, carefully picking out old pictures of himself, toys and children's books, setting them all aside. What he found at the bottom wasn't what he had been looking for, but it still made him stop and sit back on his haunches. It was a picture of Sam, his mom and his dad before he'd been born. In fact, if the telltale bump under his mother's dress was any giveaway, he was soon to be born. He stared at the photo despondently, taking in their faces and their happiness and wondering what had happened.

"James," Frankie said, sudden and firm, and Jim to look up from the picture. "We need to talk about this, okay? Avoiding it is hurting all of us."

Anger surged up in Jim, irrational and intense. "I don't want to fucking talk about it," he snapped and stood up abruptly. "There isn't anything to talk about." He hurriedly returned the contents of his childhood, what little of it there was, back into the box. "So you can just drop it."

It was obvious Frankie wasn't going to 'drop it' just because Jim asked her to.. She stood and jabbed her finger at her nephew. "You listen here, young man," she ordered, jabbing her finger again, for emphasis. "You cannot expect us to tolerate your bad attitude! Yes, you are our nephew, and we love you, but there is only so much a person can take!"

"Are you saying you want me gone?" Jim asked, meeting Frankie's gaze with a heated glare of his own. "Because if that's the case you better say it now and I'll be out of here by tomorrow morning—"

"If you want to leave so bad," Diana drawled from the doorway of the kitchen. "Then go ahead and leave already." She was frowning at him; from over her shoulder Nyota watched, looking worried.

"Maybe I will!" he yelled, slamming the box down and flinging his arms outward. "I don't need this fucking house and all its goddamn secrets! I came here to get some peace but you two don't seem to think I deserve that!"

"Talking would do you some good!" Frankie hollered right back. "You are such a brat! You've been this way ever since—" She stopped, immediately, and Jim opened his mouth to say what he really thought about that when outside there was the distinct sound of a pot exploding followed by a loud groan.

Everyone in the house froze for a moment, and then the scene was so hectic with people running that the people were practically blurs. Jim headed for the front door and swung it open, nearly falling over the threshold when the weight of his two aunts connected with his back.

On their front porch lay the prone form of one Doctor McCoy; evidently a hanging pot had fallen on his head, smashing to pieces and spilling its inky dirt out on and beside him. Jim hissed sympathetically and hurried over to the man's side, looking at McCoy's head. The doctor was out cold, bleeding slightly from a small gash that was swelling and already starting to bruise.

"Oh, excellent!" Frankie exclaimed, clearly amused. Jim sent her a scathing glare. "We reamed the doctor."

"First time for everything," Diana remarked idly, eyeing McCoy with something like mischief. "That Leonard is quite handsome. I never noticed it before."

"It takes a guy to bleed, unconscious, on your porch for you notice his good looks?" Jim asked, eyebrows raised. "Can someone help me? I can't exactly lift him on my own." All three looks he got from the women hovering around were different degrees of amused disbelief. Jim sat back from where he had been trying to brush the dirt off of McCoy's shoulder and glared up at them. "With magic," he clarified, leaving the 'dumbasses' implied.

*

Len was sure he had awoken to stranger sounds in his life. Once, there had been a horse in his room (a joke by his college roommate) and he woke up to its incessant neighing. It had been a weird experience to say the least, but it hadn't been nearly as annoying as the sound that awoke him this morning. No, today it was a combination of things. The first was what sounded like SpongeBob Squarepants on TV and the other a constant, loud crunching.

He groaned, rolled over, and tried to bury his face in his pillow. Apparently Jocelyn had left Joanna at his house this morning—unannounced again—and Jo had gotten into his cereal and commandeered his television remote. He had also apparently dragged his bed into his living room in his sleep, or Joanna had brought the TV into his room. Slowly, his sleep bogged mind processed his hypothesis, and, finding it lacking in oodles of sense, he shot up ramrod straight from the bed. His eyes met brilliant blue and a widely gaping mouth filled with the crushed remains of Cocoa Puffs. He reeled backwards in shock and fell right off the bed.

"Jesus!" Jim exclaimed, scrambling across his bed to peer over the side at McCoy.

"Where am I?" Leonard asked as he sat up on his elbows and glared at Jim, who was currently sitting between his knees, which were, for some reason, hooked over the side of the bed. Jim grinned, obviously amused, and patted McCoy's leg.

"You're in the Wright Manor, good sir," he said, in his best imitation at a gentlemen's accent—it wasn't, to put it nicely, that great. He sat back as McCoy pulled his legs off the bed and attempted to get back on his feet. Jim didn't offer help in any way; he seemed completely entertained by the sight of the man trying to recover a dignified pose.

"No, please, don't get up," McCoy grouched with an eye roll before he realized two things. One was that he was obviously in Jim's bedroom, a stranger he had only briefly met with on two occasions. The second was that he was in nothing but his boxers and so was Jim (but Jim had the advantage of shirt). "Why am I naked?"

"You're not naked," Jim replied and gave McCoy a skeptical look. "Are you a never-nude or something?" How he remained completely serious while asking this was beyond McCoy.

"Fuck no, I'm not a never-nude!" he snapped. "I just want to know why I don't have any goddamn pants—"

"Oh," Jim said with a coy smile that made Leonard all that much more suspicious. "They're in the wash."

"Why?" was the obvious question.

"They were dirty," Jim answered, as if he were being helpful.

"How did they get dirty?" Bones asked slowly through his teeth. The similarities between his four year old daughter and Jim were really starting to grate on him.

"Aren't you more concerned with why you're here in the first place?" Jim asked with a wide gesture to the room around them. "I mean, that's what I'd be worrying about."

McCoy almost took him seriously, _almost_. If it weren't for the little catch at the corners of Jim's mouth as he spoke, McCoy would have been convinced Jim was an idiot of the highest degree. Instead he was immediately aware that Jim was making fun of him and thusly righteously angry about it. "Don't fuck with me kid," he barked, and was satisfied when Jim's expression fell. "You explain everything, right now, from my pants to how the hell I ended up in your bed."

"Okay," Jim said slowly and sent McCoy a wary look. "You're here because a flower pot hanging on the porch fell on your head—" McCoy made a shocked, worried sound and rushed to the vanity mirror over Jim's dresser, "and the dirt from the pot got all over your clothes, so I undressed you, put the clothes in the wash, and put you in my bed." The blond smirked then, stretching out across his bed in an unconscious sprawl. McCoy strictly reminded himself it was not proper for him to be checking out his twenty year-old neighbors, whether he had already been in their bed or not.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Uh, oh, okay," he said awkwardly, and looked around the room, and then down at himself. Remembering he was mostly nude help him remember his righteous anger. "Why don't I have a bruise if a goddamn pot fell on my head?"

Jim looked caught. "Uh, well—"

"It wasn't a very heavy pot," Diana drawled from the doorway. It seemed she had been a spectator for a while. Jim jumped and scrambled to cover himself but McCoy yanked the sheets off the bed before he could. "We put ice on it in time, too."

"How about we let Doc get dressed, and then we talk about this?" Jim suggested, just as McCoy opened his mouth to tell Diana what shit he thought her lie was. "Go away, Dee." Diana looked annoyed at being chased off but, with only a harrumph of disapproval, left. The door shut behind her with a snap. Jim got up as soon as the door shut and grabbed the neat pile of McCoy's clothes off the window sill. "Here."

McCoy grabbed them from him. "About fuckin' time," he mumbled and began to hurriedly dress. Jim unabashedly watched, never one to pass up the opportunity of a good show. "There better be breakfast in this deal."

"Undoubtedly," Jim answered with a brilliant smile, pulling on a pair of pants himself. McCoy returned the favor of watching Jim dress, but he did it in a manner much more obnoxious and mocking. Jim didn't seem to mind, disturbingly enough for the good doctor, and he put a little show into it. Len turned away, trying to hide a blush creeping across his cheeks.


	3. by tricks abracadabra

After that, Jim and Len are fast friends. McCoy isn't really sure how it happens or, more importantly, why, but it comes with the air of inevitability. And to be honest, he really does enjoy Jim's company even though it's different and weird, especially since Jim is five years his junior. The locals seem to accept it far quicker than McCoy could have ever predicted. The fact that it comes with hints of Jim's already dubious origins and McCoy's already quirky demeanor are not lost on the doctor. He resents it briefly before realizing it is like resenting the leaves for turning yellow because that's just the way things are.

Yellow the leaves did turn as his friendship with Jim took full swing. Already established was how odd the relationship was, considering he was a doctor and Jim was, well, Jim. How they managed to have time to "hang out" was another mystery to McCoy, one that Jim orchestrated with the greatest of ease. Another mystery that accompanied Jim was his sudden penchant for calling McCoy 'Bones,' a nickname he said was inspired by the man's words and not of his own invention.

"Weird things like this stick," was his simple explanation to which McCoy had to grudgingly agree and point out that Jim was one of those weird things that stuck to him. He received a punch to the arm for that one. It left a bruise.

He never truly realized how close they had grown until the yellow leaves blanketed the forest floors and the sky began turning steadily into a threatening grey. Fall, while not officially over, was getting beat out early by winter. Halloween had come and went in an icy chill that left most of the local children with an epidemic of head colds that had McCoy busy for weeks after. During most of this time, he'd barely seen Jim. Well, seen Jim in the sense that Jim considered being "seen." Of course he actually _saw_ him but never had time to speak beyond the preamble of 'hello' and 'you better not be sick, too, or I'll punch your teeth in.' Jocelyn had also been making a stink about the possibility of him getting Joanna for Christmas this year and then deciding the next day that it wasn't going to happen, then rinse and repeat.

Stressed had never looked so bad on McCoy and he struggled home after work on a Tuesday afternoon, sure that there was still some loogie left on his soul from when Isaac Hammond had spit up on him. It was late, the sun standing on the edge of the horizon threatening to jump and casting the world in a fiery red. The last thing he had ever expected was to find Jim curled in a little ball on his porch swing. He sighed and was sure that he couldn't handle another cold today.

"Jim," he called from in front of his door. "You got to get up off my swing before you freeze to death." He waited, counting to ten Mississippi's, before he walked over the heavy sounds of his boots echoing across his yard. "Jim." He was surprised, to say the least, by the bottle of tequila tucked under Jim's arm and the obvious alcohol induced coma the kid was in. McCoy sighed again. While Jim was something of a—he choked a little on the thought—attractive young man, McCoy hadn't seen any signs of underage alcohol abuse. Except for tonight, this was the first time Jim had even shown signs of such immaturity (in this case, because Jim enjoyed watching Spongebob after all).

Knowing full well if it wasn't for the fact it was going to be in the forties tonight and that he actually didn't want to make good on any threats against Jim's life, McCoy with great difficulty managed to get Jim into his arms without either waking him or breaking the tequila bottle. Carrying the nearly full size man into the house still wasn't easy and when he accidentally dropped Jim onto the couch, he hadn't meant to. The motion woke Jim up, however, and the blond sat up.

"I—Bones, you," Jim groaned and hunched over.

"I'm glad we got that established," Bones remarked helpfully as he stacked pillows at the end of the couch. He carefully tried to lay Jim back but the boy was having none of it. "Come on, now, Jim. You're twenty and drunk, I can't even begin to express to you how much saying that means to me but you need to lie down."

"My mom called today," Jim slurred and McCoy froze, his hands tight on Jim's shoulders. He hadn't heard much about Jim's mother. In fact, he had very quickly learned that any talk about Jim's family, outside of the aunts and his cousin, earned him either a stony silence or a hurried departure from Jim. "Suh-she said I should c'home for Thanksgivin'. I told her to fuckoff." He laughed hoarsely and suddenly went limp in McCoy's hands, falling backward without any control onto the pillows. He stared up at the dark ceiling above, Bones had forgotten to turn on any lights, and sighed. "Where's muh'te-te-keeeel—"

McCoy sat back on his heels and frowned. There were only so many options open to him now. Each presented itself in a concise, curt manner in his head involving things like calling Jim's aunts, driving Jim home or any combination of these things. All of these options left him feeling hollow. He was so lost when it came to these things for Jim. The kid who seemed like sunshine embodied, full of hopes and dreams that tasted so sweet to McCoy. Seeing this bitter, broken boy lying on his couch reeking of alcohol and abandonment made him think irrationally. Or maybe he was thinking clearly, he was so turned around he couldn't be sure.

"Up we go, Jim," he said softly, pulling Jim's arm around his neck and carefully lifting the man to his feet. Jim laughed and made whooshing sounds, angst over his mother clearly forgotten in a golden tide. "How about you stay here tonight?"

"Ohh, Booones," Jim crooned, staggering unbalanced against McCoy when they reached the stairs. "I thought you'd never ask! Never been t'your house, had t-t-t'find it from Missy's directions. She's uh nice old lady, doesn't have any teeth though."

Soon enough they'd reached McCoy's bedroom. It was the only other room in the house with a bed that wasn't Joanna's miniature twin and also wasn't _Joanna's_. He didn't even have to help Jim to the bed, Jim just pulled away and pivoted forward across the five feet to the bed and landed face first. McCoy rushed to his side only to find Jim was out cold already. He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night and wrestled Jim further up the bed. By the time he was done with this, the exhaustion from his day hit him square between the eyes and he, too, fell face first into the bed beside Jim. Not once did his mind connect that the last time he'd slept in this bed with anyone, it had been his wife.

*

"I promise, I swear to anything celestial and listening and forgiving, that I will never ever drink ever again ever oh my God—" Jim rolled over, his litany turning into garbled and unintelligible moans as sun light penetrated the delicate skin of his eyelids.

This noise managed to wake McCoy up quite succinctly and he seized upward, hair sticking up at all odd angles. He had been under the half-conscious impression that a horse had gotten into his room again but it was just Jim. He sighed and slumped back against his pillow only to surge back up again. Jim was still there, a groaning mess in his crumpled clothes and bloodshot eyes.

"KillmeBones," he pleaded, grabbing fistfuls of McCoy's shirt who had also fallen asleep in his clothing. "Make it go away."

The night before fell neatly into place in McCoy's head and he pulled away from Jim's feeble grasp. "Fuck no," he snapped, ignoring Jim's replying wince. "You suffer your underage drinking indignity." There was a twinge of guilt as he remembered what had driven Jim to the underage drinking but he ignored it because he hadn't had any coffee and it wasn't within his abilities to be tactful yet.

He eventually got up, into the bathroom and changed, and returned to the bedroom. Jim was still a writhing mass of discomfort under his sheets so he moved on downstairs. He didn't see Jim until twenty minutes later as he flipped a pancake. The blond stumbled into his kitchen intent for the nearest surface he could sit on. McCoy tried to ignore the terrible squeal of the chair across his floor Jim had somehow managed to cause and instead, calmly flipped the last pancake to crown the neat stack he'd made.

"You made pancakes," Jim said in disbelief as Bones sat the massive stack of them in the center of the table. "I didn't know you could make pancakes. Why didn't you ever tell me?" He looked as if it was McCoy had done the equivalent of never telling Jim he was actually a woman.

"Jim, anyone can make pancakes—"

"I can't make pancakes."

McCoy paused, pursing his lips as he sat down across from Jim. "Well, anyone can still make pancakes," he said eventually, divvying out the flapjacks between them. "I never said you were included in anyone."

Jim, very eloquently, stuck out his tongue in reply. They ate their pancakes in a comfortable silence. It was a little different from their usual silence, which was normally full of Jim's fidgeting as he tried to come up with something to say. Jim was rather involved with his pancakes among other things and McCoy tried to catalogue this new silence. Somehow, "We Just Happened to Have Slept Together after Jim got Drunk and Confessed and Big Secret" seemed a little too verbose and also probably a little too creepy.

"Thank you," Jim quietly after a great length. He stared morosely into his pancakes, head dropped as if he had done some great wrong and deserved to be booted and never dealt with again. McCoy stared at the sad slump of his head and, quite in character lately, sighed.

"Anytime," Bones said. And that, they say, was that.

*

Irritably, Jim stabbed at his cereal with his spoon and stared out the kitchen window. He sighed long-sufferingly. Today he was stuck at home, without any source of entertainment because his current conduit was visiting the city to pick up immunizations and other doctorly things without him. And it was a Saturday, Bones had abandoned him on a Saturday.

"Oh." Nyota came bounding into the kitchen but stopped just a step into the entryway, eyeing Jim in surprise. "I didn't expect to find you here." Jim turned to eye her, taking in her tight, flattering red sweater and pencil skirt, and frowned in distaste. "Well, long time no see to you either," she laughed. "The good doctor finally get sick of you?"

"He went into the city for vaccinations or something," Jim scowled, sloshing the now cereal around with his spoon. "Where're you going like that?"

Nyota gave him an innocent look as she sat down beside him. "Like what?" she asked and he tried to elbow her but she was too quick and leaned out of his range. "You'll be happy to know that I am beating you."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Beating me at what?"

"True love!" she exclaimed with a mock swoon, hand over her heart. Jim snorted and stabbed his cereal some more. "Oh, please, don't give me that, Jim."

"How exactly are you beating me?" Jim asked, leaning towards her and stabbing his spoon at her. She rolled her eyes, grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it up to wipe up the droplets of milk he sprayed over the counter. "Who's to say I have even started?"

"That just reinforces my standing as the winner," Nyota remarked as she let go of Jim's shirt. "And you have started, because I've met mine and the same reaction you had to Dr. McCoy is the one I had to my destined." She sighed again, looking like she was about to swoon for real this time. "And, I'm winning because we've kissed."

"What?" Jim looked startled. He floundered mentally, the familiar sparking feeling he felt whenever around Bones surging through his skin. Foolishly he had hoped that it wasn't the case and that McCoy was just destined to be a good friend, but now that he had confirmation his world slowly tipped onto its axis. "Wait, kissed?"

Nyota smirked and grabbed Jim's face in hand, squeezing his cheeks together between her thumb and fingers in a familiar gesture from their childhood. His squished expression looked even more scandalized. "Yes, twice," she announced smugly. "More than you've done with the doctor, undoubtedly."

Jim sputtered and shoved her hands away. "I've slept with him!"

"You've what?!" Frankie exclaimed, having been standing behind her niece and nephew for a good time now. They both reared around in surprise. "Jim!"

"Hardly," Diana remarked from the garden door. She pulled off her dirty gloves and stepped into the house, regarding Jim with a knowing look. "If they had "slept" together in an intercourse sense then both of them would be too _busy_ to do anything like brag about it." Jim made an exaggerated gagging noise and Nyota looked embarrassed. "Also, Nyota, dear, do not lie to your cousin," she continued. "Kissing your true love on the cheek, twice or otherwise, hardly would put you in the lead."

"Thanks, mother," Nyota seethed, just barely loud enough to be heard over Jim's snickers.

*

If McCoy had known in advanced that making pancakes and promises he wasn't sure he could keep to Jim would cause the kid to be even more attached to his hip…he was sure he would have still done things exactly the same. It was another adjustment that he felt he took in stride. Ever since Jim had found out where he lived he pretty much never left. Sometimes McCoy would come home to find Jim actually asleep in his bed, curled around one of his pillows. On such nights he'd simply sigh, unable to resist a smile and would lie down beside Jim. Sometimes he would wake up alone and sometimes he would wake up curled around Jim, curled around the pillow. Those mornings were the most embarrassing but Jim slept like the dead and never knew of their nighttime embrace.

Things between them were becoming precarious. Jim invoked feelings in McCoy that he hadn't been sure if he even had anymore. It scared him, to say the least, and he carefully tried to keep his distance. One thing Jim never really seemed to acknowledge was that McCoy was currently going through a divorce. Any feelings that sprung between them, and boy did some feelings spring up from McCoy on some days, he guiltily blamed on rebound. He felt sure he was using Jim for the company he provided and made sure to strictly keep it just company and never anymore.

Temptation reared its ugly head in more ways than Jim appearing in his bed. Sometimes Jim would just look at him and smile in a way that made his heart seize upwards into his throat. Today brought about one of those occurrences when McCoy answered his doorbell to find Jim on his porch once again, but this time with an added addition.

"What is that?"

Jim held up the fluffy bundle of puppy. "This is a friendship puppy," Jim announced as if it should have been obvious. The puppy blinked its doe-brown eyes up at him and then began squirming in Jim's grasp and causing the man to clutch it protectively against his chest again.

"For me?" McCoy tried to look away from the puppy and focus on Jim's face but his eyes kept falling down onto the spotted head. "Jim, you got me a puppy. I can't believe you got me a puppy."

"Uh, yes," Jim said, confused. "You…you're not mad?" He eyed Bones suspiciously and then in surprise when he took the puppy from Jim.

"No," Bones sighed, looking down at the small Dalmatian before looking back up at Jim. And then suddenly they were hugging, he couldn't explain why he reached out and grabbed Jim but he did and it felt rather good. Jim tensed for the briefest of moments before hugging him back, head dropping onto McCoy's shoulder. They both sighed, content, and the puppy squirmed happily between them, licking at their chins. Laughing, Jim pulled away and looked down at the dog.

"His name is Tiberius," Jim said and McCoy looked down as well, their foreheads pressing into each other. The puppy stared back up at them tongue lolling out of his mouth. "Don't ask me why, because that's my middle name but Frankie insisted that's what he should be called. I think Tib will work."

Bones glanced up at Jim and their eyes met, Jim's brilliant blue shining intolerably bright at the close proximity. The shock of this brought a few things into sharp focus for the doctor, one was how close they were standing (still, technically, hugging as his arms had settled around Jim's waist) and two was that Jim's breath smelled like chocolate and was very, very tempting. He coughed and drew away, taking the puppy with him. "Well, it's a good name," he said shakily, with a tight smile.

His heart gave a jolt of pain when Jim's expression turned a little melancholy. "I'm glad you like it at least," Jim said as he pulled a face. "Anyway, I've got to go. Thanksgiving is soon, the harvest moon by some whim of the Mother falls on that day and we've got to some sort of ceremony going on. Which you're invited to by the way."

"Oh yeah," McCoy said dumbly. "Your witch stuff? I'll try to be there." Jim nodded mutely, gave a grin and a wave and was gone, trotting off down his steps. McCoy watched him vanish into the trees, feeling just a bit empty.

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
